The Things I Do
by Innocent Thief
Summary: Maka is violent, short-tempered, stubborn, gloomy, and pretty stupid at times. She has all these flaws and she drives me crazy, so why do I find myself doing all these things for her all the time? Sometimes I wonder. But I guess it doesn't matter. These are just the things I do. [Canon] [Manga "Behind the Scenes Side-story" Collection]
1. Chapter 1

The Things I Do

"_Looks like I'll need to cook for a while, by the looks of your hands…"_

* * *

"This sucks," Maka grumbles as I lead her into our apartment with my arm held loosely around her waist to keep her steady. She'd been complaining ever since we went to the infirmary after our battle with Free of the immortal clan. "How am I supposed to study like this?" she wails, lifting her arms and staring pitifully at the thick bandages wrapped around both of her hands.

I roll my eyes. "That's what you're worried about?" I scoff, though I'm really not all that surprised. She's nothing short of ridiculous when it comes to school. "I would've thought you'd be more worried about bathing or something," I add, my eyes grazing down the length of her body. Her clothes are all buttons and buckles. How did she expect to get dressed and undressed while her hands healed? If she asked Blair, the pesky cat would just force her into some crazy lingerie or carbaret clothes. That would be embarrassing to see.

"Studying is just as important!" Maka shouts, still whining. "The Super Written Exams are coming up. Unlike you, some of us actually want to do well."

"Whatever," I mumble, focusing my attention on helping her sit down on the floor. She keeps her arms wrapped around my neck, making it an awkward dance between us—me struggling to set her down gently and not fall on top of her, and her trying to keep the slightest pressure away from her hands. I have to brace my hands on the floor, one on each side of her waist, to keep myself from crushing her beneath my weight. "You okay?" I ask, backing away and kneeling in front of her.

She nods in response. Her cheeks turn pink. "Umm, could you help me?" Her gaze drifts down to her boots, then back up to me.

I let out a sigh. "Just for today. Since it was partly my fault our wavelengths didn't match."

"Sorry," she murmurs, lowering her head as I lean forward to take her boots off. "Thanks," she whispers, so softly I can barely hear it. I take hold of her arms and help her stand up again.

"What do you want for dinner?" I ask, sauntering into the kitchen and opening the fridge to inspect the contents.

Maka pauses on her way to her room and turns to look at me, confused. "Anything is fine. But don't you want to bathe first?"

"Nah," I tell her. I actually do, but she's worse off than I am. I don't mind waiting. "You can take a bath. I'll cook."

Her brows furrow and she glances away from me. "You can just order takeout," she mutters.

I glance over at her questioningly. "Is that all right? I thought you wanted me to cook nice dinners for you. Seaweed wrapper specials, you know," I chuckle.

She doesn't laugh or even get mad and resort to a painful Maka Chop for bringing up the seaweed wrapper dinner she'd given me when we were at odds with each other. She just nods her head and disappears from sight into her room. At least we're getting along better than before. Looking at her burned hands is painful for me, like looking at the scar on my chest is for her. I don't ever want to cause her that sort of pain again.

I slump down into the couch, rubbing the back of my neck and letting out a sigh. Sometimes it just didn't feel right, how the meister always took so much damage in battle while the weapon just acted as an extension of meister's attacks. Sometimes I almost wish that I was the meister instead. But I know that our partnership is perfect the way it is. Maka is strong. I know she can handle anything that comes her way. And I'm content being by her side and helping her achieve her goals.

Thinking of Maka brings an idea to mind. I reach for the phone on the coffee table and dial a familiar number.

"Hello?" Tsubaki answers on the other end.

"Hey, it's Soul—" I'm cut off by Black Star's obnoxious laughter.

"NYAHA! Tsubaki! Someone is calling to praise my outstanding work today, right?!"

"Ah, no—" I hear her say before the phone is apparently taken from her.

"Hey! I'm the amazing Black Star! Want my autograph?"

"Shut up, you dumbass," I snap, even though I'm grinning. "I was talking to Tsubaki."

"Aww! It's just Soul!" Black Star whines. The shrill sound of it hurts my ear and I have to pull the phone away for a second. "Hey, how's Maka?" Black Star adds, more serious now. As stupid as he could be, at least he was dedicated to his comrades.

"She's fine. Put Tsubaki back on."

"Don't come crying to me when you regret not talking to the _great_ Black Star! Nyahahaha—_ow_!"

I stifle a laugh, knowing he'd probably just been struck by a shuriken to the forehead.

Tsubaki comes back on the line. She's apologetic as always. "Soul? Sorry about that. So why did you call?"

"Uh…" Suddenly, this whole idea of mine seems kind of embarrassing. I clear my throat, debating if I should just give up now. They were probably really exhausted too. They'd been with us when we battled Free, after all. Might as well play it safe. "Are you busy right now?" I ask.

"I'm cooking dinner. But I can make time for you," she says cheerfully.

This just wasn't cool at all. I sigh again and lean back against the couch. "Maka told me to order takeout," I mutter. If it was Black Star, he wouldn't have understood what I was trying to say. He'd just stay there stupidly on the other end in silence and then ask me what that had to do with anything. But this is Tsubaki. She would understand right away.

"Oh! Well, I'm making beef stew, so there's going to be a lot even for Black Star and me," she says. "I was planning on saving the leftovers but I can bring some over to you guys, if you want."

"That would be great," I smile, relieved. At least she's not making me feel uncool for making this lame request.

"Okay! I'll come over soon. Bye, Soul."

"See ya."

I hang up, toss the phone back on the table, and rest my arm over my eyes. What was I doing? I could make any number of excuses as to why I didn't order takeout and called Tsubaki instead. Takeout would cost money, it wasn't good for your health, the food itself wasn't that tasty, Maka might have wanted something specific to eat. Plenty of excuses. But that's all they were. Excuses.

I know that Maka doesn't really like takeout. That she only said it because she feels bad about making me do all this stuff for her because of an injury. I know she likes Tsubaki's cooking and that having friends around will make her smile. Those are the reasons I did what I did.

So why did that make me feel so agitated?

It must be exhaustion.

I pick myself up and head for my room, intending to take off at least my coat and socks while I wait for the bath. As soon as I step into the hallway, Maka collides headfirst into my chest. My hands reach for her shoulders automatically. "Hey. Watch where you're going, klutz," I tease.

She doesn't lift her head. "Sorry," she mumbles. I hear her sniffle.

"Maka?" I exclaim worriedly, without even thinking. I lean down to meet her eyes, but she spins her head away from me. "Maka, look at me," I command. She doesn't listen. Of course she doesn't.

I put my hand on her cheek and turn her face towards me. She's beet red. Her hair is loose and tousled. There are tears in her eyes and falling down her cheeks. I feel an ache in my chest. I hate it when she cries. "What happened, Maka?" I ask, wiping her tears with my thumb.

"Nothing. I'm fine," she snaps, keeping her gaze on the floor.

I roll my eyes at her stubbornness and let her go. She brushes past me and into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her. She can be such a pain sometimes. I lean back against the doorframe of her room, shoving my hands into my pockets. That's when I notice her black coat lying on the floor rather than being neatly tucked away somewhere. Beside it are a pair of scissors and two broken hair-ties.

So that's what happened.

"Dummy. You could've asked for help," I murmur.

She really was a pain.

I drape her coat over the back of the chair at her desk, put the scissors into the desk drawer, and throw the hair ties in the garbage. I only do it so that she won't get annoyed or upset when she sees them again. That's all.

…

Maka finds me dozing off on the floor in my room when she's finished with her bath. "Soul, I'm done!" The smell of her soap and shampoo reaches me before I finally open my eyes. She's crouched down next to me, so close I can feel the warmth radiating off her skin. "If you sleep here, you'll catch a cold, stupid," she says, smiling at me as though I'm hopeless.

Maybe I am.

I grin back at her, leaning forward so that our foreheads nearly touch. "I thought stupid people can't catch colds. Isn't that why you've never had one?"

She gapes at me in disbelief. "Soul, you idiot!" she shouts, punching my shoulder. Really dumb move on her part. "_Ow!_" she cries out, gently cradling her burnt hands. She whimpers softly. "You jerk."

"It's not my fault," I say, defending myself. But she looks so pitiful with her eyes watering and her lip trembling that I just can't leave her alone. Funny how she acted so tough on the battlefield, but so weak around me. Not that I minded too much. It had to hurt after all. "Come on," I sigh, grabbing her arm to help her stand. "Let's bandage you up again."

I set her down on the couch and get the ointment and bandages I'd left in the foyer. She uses her arm to wipe away the tears she'd let fall while I had my back turned. I pretend not to notice and sit beside her.

The skin of her hands is warm to the touch. I can feel it even as I'm rubbing the cooling ointment into her palm and over each of her fingers. She hisses and closes her eyes, then lets out a sigh of relief as I start wrapping bandages around her left hand, then her right.

"Thanks," she whispers, looking down at my own hands as they work.

"If you're going to say thanks for every single thing I do while your hands heal, I'd prefer it if you didn't say thanks at all," I say bluntly, earning a sharp look from her.

"Fine," she pouts. "If that's what you want."

"It is. Stuff like saying _thank you_ and _I'm sorry_ should be meaningful, you know. If you say it too much, it loses its meaning." I smile at the pensive expression on her face and wipe my ointment-covered finger over her nose.

She gasps and wipes it away immediately. "Soul! That's not fair! I can't even Maka Chop you!"

"Then I'll use this time to get back for all those Maka Chops."

"No way!"

The shocked look on her face is priceless. Laughing, I head back out into the hallway to take a bath myself.

"You're so mean, Soul!" I hear Maka exclaim as I shut the door to the bathroom.

Mean, huh? She must have some crazy, convoluted definition for the word _mean_. After all the things that I've done for her.

Oh well. That's my meister.

…

Tsubaki and Black Star are there just as I finish my bath. I know because I hear Black Star's laugh echoing throughout the entire house and the resounding thud of the dictionary Tsubaki Maka Chops him with in Maka's stead. Maybe inviting them to come over wasn't the best idea.

I wait a good minute or two before daring to come out of the bathroom. "Excuse me for intruding," I murmur with the towel over my head, trying to make an escape into my room.

Maka is already there, leaning against the doorframe. She knew me too well. "This is your idea of takeout?" she drawls, gesturing with her head to sight of Tsubaki setting a big pot on the stove while Black Star posed on top of the table and rattled off some rant of personal glory, how honored we were to have his presence here this evening, and how our apartment couldn't hold someone as big as him so he'd have to leave shortly.

I shrug, floundering for words or one of those many excuses I'd come up earlier. I had pretty good ones, I know. I just can't think of them. Instead of anything reasonable, I just end up saying "Surprise?" and get kicked in the shin.

"Dummy," she says as she walks past me with a tiny smile on her lips.

I chuckle as I rub my aching shin. "You're welcome."

Tsubaki already has the table set when I show up. She smiles up at me cheerfully. "Good evening, Soul. I hope you don't mind if we join you."

"Not at all," I grin and take my seat next to Maka.

Black Star stands up abruptly and slams his foot onto the table, rattling the dishes. "You should feel lucky that I, Black Star, have agreed to share my table with the likes of you!" he announces, brandishing his spoon in the air.

"It's not your table," Maka mutters from her chair directly across from him.

He ignores her, of course. "And you should feel even more honored that I have accepted the task of feeding the weak who have no chance of ever becoming as great as me! Nyahaha!"

"What are you talking about?" Maka, Tsubaki, and I all ask at the same time.

We get our answer soon enough. Black Star dips his spoon into his bowl, leans across the table, and shoves the spoon in Maka's mouth.

There's silence. Absolute silence. All I see is the image of Maka's wide-eyed, pink-cheeked, mortified expression and the spoon Black Star has stuck in her mouth as though she's a baby.

"B-Black Star," Tsubaki stammers, her face paling. "Didn't you already use that spoon?"

"Hmm? Oh yeah. I did. Haha!"

Tsubaki's face turns a bright shade of red. "Black Star! That's an indirect kiss!"

"What?" He looks down at Maka again, baffled. "Indirect…" His eyes widen. "_Kiss?!_" he screams.

I can't hold it in anymore. I burst into laughter.

"_Maka!_ Give me back my indirect kiss!" Black Star shouts, looking disgusted and horrified by the whole thing.

"You're the one who did that on your own! Don't blame me! I hate it as much as you do!"

I laugh even louder, tears building up in the corners of my eyes, and hit the table with my fist. It's just too funny.

"Liar! You just wanted to steal an indirect kiss from the great Black Star! Admit it! That's why you lured me here!"

"You came here on your own! I had nothing to do with it!"

"You two, please stop," Tsubaki mumbles, although she looks equally mortified by what just happened.

They continue arguing pointlessly, which was to be expected. My laughter dies down and I wipe the tears from my eyes. Tsubaki gives up on trying to stop them, so the two of us just quietly take a bite of the beef stew and ignore the chaos around us.

"Wow. This is really good," I say.

Somehow my words end the argument. Maka and Black Star end up staring at me for a second before Black Star breaks out into a huge grin. "Right, Soul? That's because she's my weapon. Hehe." He steals Maka's untouched spoon and immediately begins devouring everything in his bowl.

Maka stares sullenly at hers.

I watch her for a moment, then ask, "Do you want a different spoon?"

She pouts. "Not really."

"Hmm." I replace the spoon in her bowl with my own and use Black Star's instead.

She continues pouting for a little while more before she awkwardly picks up the spoon and starts to eat.

I notice Tsubaki smiling sweetly at us and lower my head, hiding my own grin. Sometimes I wonder what I got myself into when I offered to play my song for someone who knows nothing about music. _Partners_. Sometimes I wonder if I'm a housemaid, or a babysitter, or a parent. But it's a nice life, all the same.

…

After Black Star and Tsubaki leave, Maka lies down on the couch with a book while I finish cleaning up in the kitchen. In the middle of cleaning, I keep glancing over at her. There's just something off about her appearance. As much as I try to figure out what it is, I can't seem to put my finger on it.

"Soul, is something wrong?" she asks after I glance back at her for about the tenth time.

Now that she's facing me, I think I know the problem. "Maka, did you comb your hair?"

Her eyes widen. "Does it look bad?"

"It's messy."

She groans and tries to smooth it down with her bandaged hands. "I thought it would be a pain to comb it, so I didn't," she admits with a blush reddening her cheeks.

Absently, I scratch the back of my neck. "Do you…want me to do it for you?" I ask. I'm not even sure why I offered. But it's out already. And her hair really is messy.

"Eh?" She whirls her head around to face me, embarrassed by the question. "Y-you don't have to," she stammers, averting her gaze back down to her book. "I'll be fine. Just deal with my messy hair!"

Yeah. I expected her to say that. So, as soon as I finish washing the dishes and putting everything away, I grab the comb out of her room and force her to make room for me on the couch.

"I said you didn't have to," she grumbles.

"Shut up."

I lean forward, running the comb down her back, gently tugging at the knots in her hair. The _many_ knots in her hair. "You should've told me about this earlier," I say tightly, trying to comb her hair without hurting her too badly.

"How do you think I feel?" she retorts, her voice just as strained as she leans her head back to prevent me from pulling at her hair too much. "That's why I said you didn't have to do it."

But I do it anyway. Because I know it'll bother her in the morning. Once the knots are gone, her hair is silky to the touch. I'd never noticed before. Obviously because I didn't go around touching her hair. Geez, what was I thinking?

"Ah, that reminds me. I'm not going to have to make your pigtails in the morning, am I?" I ask, tapping her head lightly with the comb. Her shoulders tense up and she turns her head robotically. The skeptical look she gives me makes me feel uneasy. "What?"

"You're kidding, right?" Maka frowns. "If you do my hair, Kid will spend a whole hour fixing it."

I roll my eyes. "No, he won't."

Maka raises a questioning eyebrow.

I grin. "He'd spend three hours fixing it," I tell her.

Both of us start laughing. Maka leans back into my shoulder and I lean back into the couch, instinctively lowering my head towards hers as we laugh.

I think, maybe, it's for moments like these that I do the things I do.

But then again, what do I know?

…

The next morning when I do Maka's hair, Kid practically explodes when he sees her and ties her down to a chair to spend three hours making it perfectly symmetrical. Needless to say, she refuses to let me do her hair ever again. Though she still makes me comb it after her bath.

Oh well. These are just the things I do.

* * *

**Author's Note: **After the rather lackluster ending of Soul Eater, I decided to upload this story I've been developing for a while. It's collection of side-stories concerning our favorite meister and weapon pair, Maka and Soul, told from Soul's point of view. These side-stories, all imagined by yours truly, occur "behind the scenes" throughout the manga series. So if you haven't read the whole manga series, things might get a little confusing and there will be spoilers. For those who have, I'll include direct quotes from the manga which will roughly show when the side-story is taking place. I only have about five or six of these planned out, and the next installment occurs much later chronologically than this first one. If you have ideas for any more, I'd be glad to hear them.

The relationship between Maka and Soul is a strong one and many of the things they do for each other shows hints of deeper feelings. It's those feelings that I'm going to be fleshing out a little more, by adding this small collection of private moments between the two. And then, for the end of this fanfiction, I hope to create a much better SoMa moment than the one presented at the end of the manga. But we'll just have to wait and see...

Thank you for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

The Things I Do

"_It would be nice to be called an angel once in a while! With Ox-kun going around calling Kim an angel just like that and everything… And what was with those wings? All spiky like that! Can't I have some nice big, fluffy cute ones? I wish I'd partnered with Ox-kun instead of you!"_

* * *

I trail behind Maka with my hands full of grocery bags as she shuffles into our apartment, blindly tossing her set of keys onto the table. "Ahh! I'm so tired!" she groans, throwing her arms up into the air. After a little stumble over the coffee table, she collapses onto the couch with an _oof_, not even bothering to take off her dirty shoes.

A sigh leaves my lips at the sight of the dirt she's tracked over the kitchen floor and the living room carpet. Judging from her behavior, the cooking and cleaning was apparently my job for tonight, even though it was technically Maka's turn to make dinner. "Do you want me to run a bath for you?" I ask, just out of courtesy. I'd like to laze around and do nothing in a tub of warm water just as much as she probably does. She's not the only one who's tired. She's just the only one making a show of it.

A mumbled yes comes from her direction, mumbled because she has her face burrowed into the couch cushion.

I sigh again, setting the bags down on the counter and draping my coat over one of the chairs in the dining room area. My meister, as cool as she acted on the battlefield, could be such a nuisance. Picking up her slippers from the foyer, I walk over to her and start to unbuckle one of her boots. At least one of us has to have the decency to keep the apartment in order. She'd yelled at me enough times for not taking off my shoes right at the door. She was lucky I wasn't doing the same to her.

"Could you start the bath first?" she asks, glancing back at me innocently with those big green eyes.

An irritated scowl immediately twists my mouth. Was this supposed to be payback or something for not giving her the proper angel wings she'd wanted during our flying lesson? What had she been expecting? Her, an angel? Like hell! There isn't anything angel-like about her. Honestly, what was with her sudden obsession with _angels_ and _cuteness_ and _Ox-kun_ supposed to mean anyway? Wanting Ox for her partner? He was a meister! What was the deal with that? Just what kind of message was she trying to give me in all that convoluted mess?

I was tempted to ignore her demand for a bath since it was probably all just some ploy to get on my nerves. But then she got that stubborn look on her face, with her brows lowered and her lips puckered, and I knew I was done for. There was no way I was going to win against that. I was tired of arguing with her anyway. It just wasn't cool. And she would probably Maka Chop me into submission anyway.

"Tch. Fine. I'll do everything," I grumble, dropping her boot on the floor. Stupid idea, since the dirt just clouded up around it from the impact and spread. Now I'd have to clean underneath the couch too.

I growl, furiously scratching the back of my head, and head for the bathroom, stomping my feet along the way.

"That's annoying," she calls out from her position on the couch. "Be quiet, Soul."

"Shut up!"

Angel, huh? Angel, my ass!

I twist the faucet knob open with more force than necessary. Water bursts out of the spout, sending droplets through the air. Out of spite, I grab Maka's towel hanging on the rack beside me, intending to dry my face with it. But then, on second thought, it's probably not the best idea. Even if she had no clue what I'd done, I would know and that would be enough of a guilt trip for me.

That girl… She gives me migraines.

I wipe the sleeve of my uniform dress shirt across my face and loosen my tie as I wait for the tub to fill. After all that had happened to us recently—infiltrating Baba Yaga's castle, defeating the witch Arachne, making me into a Death Scythe—I would have thought she'd matured a little. But she was still the same.

Well, maybe that was a good thing.

I turn off the faucet and enter the living room area again. Maka looks absolutely ridiculous laying there with a pillow hugged tightly in her arms, her face crushed against the seat cushion, and her legs dangling over the edge of the couch with only one boot on her foot. She's like a pouting kid. And the worst part of it all is that her little method of manipulating me is working.

Why do I do these things for her exactly? I can't even pinpoint the reason myself.

More than just meister and weapon. More than comrades in battle. More than friend to friend. What are we really? I wonder.

But there's no point in worrying myself with things like that. There's enough worrying going on with everyone, not just us, and that's why I don't intend to make it worse.

I take off Maka's other boot and put her slippers on her feet. She wriggles around on to her side, staring pointedly at the book she'd left lying on the coffee table this morning. When I only watch her, waiting for her to say something instead of just try to wordlessly command me, she shifts her gaze to mine and narrows her eyes. "Should I say please?" she grounds out in a bitingly sarcastic tone with that infuriating mocking edge in her voice that appears whenever she knows she's done something stupid but is too proud to admit it.

I glare back at her. "You should say something so I know what the hell you want."

Her cheeks turn pink and she snatches the book in her hand and slams the binding down on my head.

"OW! Stop that! You know what I said was right!" I shout, holding my hands to the throbbing welt.

She slams the book down again and would've crushed my fingers in the blow if it hadn't been for the fact that I'd ducked after seeing the oncoming swing.

"FINE! Whatever!" I stand and head for the kitchen, rubbing the bump on my head. "Do what you want," I add softly, wearily, not bothering to look back at the conflicted expression that's most likely on her face. She's so predictable. It makes me wonder why I even let her get away with these kinds of things.

I grab the bags, dumping the contents onto the counter, and rifle through the items to decide which are needed and which need to be put away for later.

Maka interrupts me. "You're going to make curry rice, aren't you?" she drawls, making a point of sounding disappointed by it. She _likes_ curry. Why would she be disappointed if I was making it?

I choose not to say anything, since she's right anyway.

For Maka, my silence is an invitation to continue. "Just don't burn the curry again, please."

My hands clench into fists.

"I don't want to have to go out for food. I'm exhausted," she groans.

I've never been one for patience. Though I've had to force myself to be patient with her more times than I care to remember. Unfortunately, this isn't one of those times.

"What do you want from me, Maka?" I ask, whirling around to face her. All I see are her eyes peering up at me from the pages of her book. "Just tell me straight out, what do you want?"

Baffled, she sets the book down so that I can see her entire face. "What are you talking about?"

Again with the innocent look. Granted, she really doesn't know what I'm referring to since she's that thick-headed. But it's still annoying to face those big green eyes all the time. So trusting and so naïve at the same time. Her courage and her trust are blind. It's as admirable as it is idiotic. But I suppose those were the characteristics that had immediately attracted her to a twisted cynic like me.

"Soul?" she says hesitantly, looking worried all of a sudden. Well, in her defense, I'd just been staring at her vacantly without saying a word.

I turn my head away from her, away from those eyes, and glower at the tiled kitchen floor. "All you talked about today was _cute angle wings _and Ox. How do you think that makes me feel?" I mumble, narrowing my eyes into thin slits. I grip the counter behind me, leaning my chin against my shoulder. "If you want to be with him so badly, why don't you just go? I'm sure he'd welcome you with open arms. And he probably even has dinner already prepared. So why don't you just go? Live with him and Harvar instead, for all I care."

But I would care. And she must know that, right?

I risk a peek at her and see those parted lips, those eyes flashing, those teeth gritting, that temper rising, and instantly know the answer to my own question.

This is Maka. She's going to take everything I say at face value and assume I'm being heartless and that I don't want her as my meister and that, now that I'm a Death Scythe, I have no reason to be with her anymore.

And that's exactly what she says to me.

"I get it. Now that you're a Death Scythe, you don't need me anymore, huh? You can just find another partner and train with them instead, right? You think almighty Death Scythes can just do whatever they please?"

She jumps up from the couch and stalks over to where I am, fists clenched at her sides. Balancing on the tips of her toes, she shoves her face right in front of mine. Foreheads touching, our breaths mingle as the two of us angrily stare each other down. "You're wrong, Soul," she insists, as if she'd been reading my mind. The heat radiating from her body is suffocating. It's hard to breathe properly. She doesn't seem to notice. "You're _my_ partner. We're getting through this _together_. You can't leave me. I won't let you. Got it?" she says, taking a step back from me and smiling. She waits for my nod of approval before heading off toward the bathroom.

Silently, I watch her. Watch her as she enters her room for a change of clothes. Watch her as she walks into the bathroom. Blair isn't here today, traipsing around in her cat form and attempting to convince Maka to wear questionable lingerie. While I would typically appreciate the silence, now it's only making me anxious.

What had _that_ been about? It almost felt like we'd been talking about two completely different things.

Tsubaki and Liz would probably say it was a girl thing. Patty wouldn't have a sensible opinion. Black Star would just say Maka was being an idiot, which I would have to agree with. Kid… Well, maybe it was Kid's capture that was causing Maka to act like this. We're on the same team, after all.

"Ahh!" I groan, scratching my head. "She's so confusing."

Turning back to the task at hand, I set aside all the ingredients I need for curry, start up the rice cooker, set a pot on the stove, and tie the cooking apron around my waist. Maka would probably stay in the bath for a while, so the only thing I can do to keep my mind occupied and _not_ think of her is to play a record. But, of course, once I think of music, I think of the trance fusion stuff she likes to listen to and my focus on _not_ focusing on her is shattered.

It's really hard not to think of someone when you've lived together for so long.

So I try to concentrate on the vegetables and meat I'm cutting up instead. I try to focus on the curry as it bubbles. I even try to play Kid for a day and measure out even portions of rice. It doesn't work, of course. I don't have Kid's penchant for things symmetrical, if he would even call servings of rice something to be made symmetrical.

I'm in the process of making the table setting Kid-proof when Maka steps out of the shower in a T-shirt and shorts, scrubbing her hair dry with a towel. She takes one look at the result of all my hard work and bursts into laughter. "It's not perfect, but Kid would be proud of you, Soul!"

I blink, confused for a second, and then chuckle along with her. "Yeah. He would, wouldn't he?" I say nonchalantly. My mind is running a mile a minute. The fact that she easily accepted my haphazard attempts at symmetry makes it safe to assume Kid's capture isn't what's bothering her. That's a relief. Everyone's confident we'll get him back anyway, since Shinigami-sama already has a plan in motion. So then, it's got to be the angel thing.

We sit across from each other at the table, neither of us offering up any conversation whatsoever. I don't because I'm trying to figure out the best way to broach the topic in mind. She doesn't because, well, probably because she's still upset. She does say that the food is delicious, but I only grunt in response and shovel another spoonful in my mouth.

It's the longest meal I've ever had to sit through, metaphorically speaking anyway. I'm actually relieved to have to wash the dishes. While I'm doing that, I hear Maka rummaging in the closet. From the corner of my eye, I see her pull out the vacuum. She starts cleaning up the debris she'd tracked in earlier.

I smile to myself as the vacuum whirs in the background. She's calmed down a little.

She finishes cleaning her mess, even underneath the couch surprisingly, since that was technically my fault. As soon as she shuts off the vacuum, she turns her head towards me. "Hey, Soul. Do you want me to help?"

Puzzled, I look over at her. "Huh?"

Her cheeks turn pink and she scratches the side of her face, glancing away. "Do you want me to help? You haven't taken a bath yet. You can do that now and I'll finish the dishes."

Her voice is peculiar. Like she's straining herself. She won't meet my gaze either. "I'm fine," I tell her, turning back to the sink. "You're tired, aren't you? Get some rest."

"W-well, aren't you tired too?" she blurts out. The pink tint on her cheeks deepens to red. She forces a smile on her face, though with her eye twitching like that, it's not fooling anyone. "I'm just…trying to be _nice_," she grinds out behind a clenched jaw.

I stare at her for a moment, until her fake smile starts to falter. "Why don't you just be yourself?" I ask.

She growls, clenching her hands into fists. "Soul, you idiot!" she shouts and then storms out of the kitchen.

Well, she's acting like herself.

…

"Maka?" I call out from the other side of the door to her room. There's no response. I knock again. "Hey, Maka—"

"I'm busy," she snaps. She's been holed up in her room for over two hours. I knew when I thought of actually seriously studying that my patience had reached its limit.

I throw open her door, eliciting a gasp from her, and walk into the room uninvited. "Hey, Maka. I'm trying to talk you here," I say in a strained voice, fighting back my immediate urge to yell at her.

"_Humph. _I don't want to talk," she says and whirls her head in the opposite direction.

I grab the back of the desk chair she's in and lean down, shoving my face in front of hers. "But _I'm_ talking and you're going to listen. _Got it?_" I snarl. I've had enough of this.

She narrows her eyes. "What do you want?"

"I should be asking you that!"

"I don't want anything," she mutters.

"You want cute angel wings!"

She purses her lips and says nothing.

Realizing I'll get nowhere by shouting at her, I back away and sit down on the side of her bed. "I just don't understand what's wrong. You have to tell me. I can't just guess, Maka," I say in a soft voice.

She glances at me shyly then shifts her gaze back to the window. "I already told you," she murmurs.

"You told me you wanted Ox for your partner. Then you got mad at me thinking I wanted to switch partners. Weren't you the one who suggested it first?" I look down at the floor so I don't have to see her reaction when I ask, "Or do you just…like him or something?"

"No! That's not what I meant!" she exclaims, whirling her head around towards me.

I lift my gaze to hers and feel my face grow warm. I look back down at the floor but I can still feel her eyes on me, boring into the side of my face. "Then…what did you mean?" I grumble.

"I-I told you already!" She turns her back on me and doesn't say anything for a second. When she finally speaks, her voice is quiet and muffled. "I just…think it would be nice…to be called an angel. And…no one's ever really…called me cute before either."

"Your dad?"

"He doesn't count!"

I slip my hands into my pockets and stare at the floor. So that's it. She wants people to think she's cute? Doesn't she realize how dumb that is? She's violent and short-tempered and gloomy. She's not all of sudden going to change into someone like Kim. I wouldn't want that anyway. She's fine the way she is. Doesn't she know that? Someone like Kim wouldn't have liked my song. Someone like Kim would've found my twisted nature to be scary. Someone like Kim wouldn't have offered to be my partner. Someone like Kim wouldn't be fit to be my partner anyway—our soul wavelengths would never match. Didn't she know that? I'm twisted and cynical. The spiky wings she hated represented my soul.

I stand up and make my way to the door. It's stuffy in here. My chest feels tight. I want to go calm down and forget about this whole mess.

Maka's voice stops me before I go into the hallway. "Soul?"

She sounds worried, upset. I don't like it. I put my hand over the doorknob and turn my head slightly. I can see her just from the corner of my eye. "I get it," I say quietly.

"Soul…"

"You're _my_ partner," I mutter. "We help each other, right? I get it." I keep my head angled away from her so she won't see the blush that's most likely on my face. I can't believe I'm giving in to her.

Her expression is one of baffled surprise as she stares at me, then she breaks out into a huge smile and her green eyes light up. She giggles and happily turns back to the books lying open on her desk. She pays no attention to me as I shuffle out into the hallway with my hand in my hair.

I can't believe myself. To have gone so far…

Whatever! She'll get her dumb angel wings. They'll be as stupid-looking as she wants them to be, maybe even _more_ stupid. Fluffy and cute and completely inadequate for someone as strong and as cool as her. But once she realizes that _angel_ and_ cute_ don't suit her, she'd better not start apologizing like the fool that she is because I won't hear it. I'll just tell her to keep training so that we can beat the crap out of Medusa and the people who stole Kid and the witches and the kishin and anyone else who stands in our way. We'll show them all up.

But for now, I'll indulge her. Because what else can I really do? I'll give her that moment, that feeling, she craves. She'll try to align herself with that picture in her head of what _cute_ is. She'll be an angel for a while and feel like she's got it all, like she's on top of the world. And then she'll just come running back to me and my twisted ways without a second glance because that's who we are.

She's not cute. Not like that.

She's so much more.

She's an amazing fighter. A cool scythe technician with style.

She's _my_ partner.

I groan and fall face-first onto my bed.

The things I do for my idiot meister.


End file.
